


We shall not sleep

by AarinsRitsuka, HolyCatsAndRabbits



Series: Alba [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a barn owl, Crowley is (still) Raphael, Crowley is still a serpent, Demon Aziraphale, Demonic Temptation, Flanders, Guardian Angel Crowley, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Somebody's got to take care of the Archangel of Healing, Trench war, World War I, no violence in the fic though, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AarinsRitsuka/pseuds/AarinsRitsuka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits
Summary: This fic takes place in a fantastic reverse AU created by Sparky (AarinsRitsuka), where Aziraphale is a powerful demon tasked with selling secrets, and his best friend is the Archangel Raphael the healer, who is living on Earth under the name Anthony J Crowley.In this fic, Crowley finds himself cold and exhausted by trying to care for the soldiers engaged in WWI trench warfare. Fortunately, someone pays him a visit and provides the Archangel of Healing with a little care himself.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Alba [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631878
Comments: 35
Kudos: 144





	We shall not sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley calls Aziraphale “Alba,” which comes from the Latin for barn owl: Tyto alba, (literally owl white). It’s the AU version of “Angel.”
> 
> Title from the poem [In Flanders Fields](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Flanders_Fields) by John McCrae

**Belgium**

**December, 1914**

War was miserable. Crowley had learned this long ago, along with everyone else who’d ever fought in one. But a trench in winter was a special kind of hardship, a mismatched torture of wet feet and dry, wind-chapped faces. Crowley had been tending to one of the soldiers in this trench for a while, healing away the racking cough that had come upon him as the afternoon waned. Crowley had done what he could to warm the young man as well, but as it was, this healing was already taking longer than it should have. There were nearly endless trenches and only one Archangel to tend to them. Crowley’s powers were starting to fade in the face of unrelenting need.

And then underneath his weakened healing glow, Crowley felt his arm start to tingle. He pushed up his sleeve to see his living tattoo, Serpens, winding its purple snake body and golden stars over his skin, weaving excited patterns. Serpens was Crowley’s closest companion, having made its home on Crowley’s body for millennia. As Crowley watched Serpens dance, he was filled with a growing sense of relief and calm that had been sorely lacking in his life for weeks now. There was only one other person in the world that the shy Serpens loved: the demon Aziraphale. Serpens had attuned itself to Aziraphale many centuries ago, and so this sort of delighted behavior was usually Crowley’s first sign that Aziraphale was about to pay him a visit.

One of the soldiers in the trench pointed at the sky and shouted something about an owl. Crowley looked up to see the magnificent bird flying low over the Front. It was a barn owl, and its neatly striped wings and clean cream-colored body seemed like a reminder to Crowley that the world still existed beyond these never-ending trenches, that somewhere there was quiet and order and some kind of normal life. 

Crowley extended his arm and the owl stretched out its golden legs to catch it, sinking its talons into the sleeve of Crowley’s jacket. It gave two more flaps of its wings and then folded them into its sides.

“Welcome to Flanders,” Crowley told him grandly, as the other men in the trench crowded forward to see the owl. It tilted its white-masked face to one side to take in Crowley’s companions. “He’s an old friend,” Crowley told them. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Crowley could feel Serpens peeking up above his collar now and the owl noticed it too, turning its head the other way to watch the constellation move. It extended a wing to brush gently against it, and Crowley could hardly remember the last time he’d felt anything so soft.

After a few minutes of providing much-needed entertainment to the soldiers, the owl blinked its eyes and vanished, appearing a second later in human form, a transformation which the soldiers did not notice. Crowley waved a hand to cloak himself as well so that they could talk. 

Aziraphale was certainly no less attractive as a human. But he was definitely overdressed for the trenches, in an elegant dark grey suit with a black furred coat over it, a coat he quickly buttoned against the cold. His white curls caught the last of the evening sun, as clean and beautiful as his wings had been.

The only difference between Aziraphale’s now-human eyes and those of the owl was a thin ring of brown around his black pupils. Aziraphale’s gaze still sparkled with the same dark, predatory intelligence as he looked over their surroundings. “We’re on the German side,” he observed.

“For now,” Crowley told him. “I go back and forth once a day or so.” Serpens had moved down to Crowley’s hand, and he tugged off his glove to let the constellation reach out to Aziraphale. Aziraphale gave it a lovely smile and petted it with a finger, sure to gently caress each star in turn, the way Serpens liked.

Aziraphale had no such smile for Crowley. It wasn’t that Aziraphale cared that Crowley was ministering to opposing armies, of course. Aziraphale disapproved of the fact that Crowley was here at all, wearing himself out, putting himself in danger. But the odd thing about Aziraphale’s demonic disapproval over this sort of thing was that it had never made Crowley feel uncomfortably hot. Just pleasantly warm.

Crowley and Aziraphale had known each other for nearly six millennia by this point. Very early on in their relationship, Crowley had realized that things had progressed beyond friendship for Aziraphale. The demon apparently could not allow himself to consciously recognize that he was in love with an angel, and Crowley didn’t think it would do either of them any good to speak of it. But strangely enough, Aziraphale’s protection of Crowley had started even before that. 

Crowley had been created as Raphael, the Archangel of Healing, meant to bring comfort to the suffering. But in Heaven, there were quotas of miracles and limits on helping people in pain. The situation quickly became dangerous for Raphael, because not liking the rules was just a short jump from questioning them, and such questions could cause an angel to Fall. Raphael would be of no use to suffering people then. And so he had fled Heaven, changing his name to Anthony J. Crowley, hiding on Earth and using his powers of comfort and healing as he saw fit. 

The demon Aziraphale was officially stationed on Earth, tasked with maintaining a library of secrets for which he charged mortal sins as payment. The great irony of their friendship was that Aziraphale kept many of the answers to Crowley’s dangerous questions in his library. And that wasn’t the only ammunition he held against Crowley: they were both well aware that Crowley desired Aziraphale in a physical way. That standing in the trench faced with his beautiful best friend all clean and elegant, Crowley wanted (at the very least) to give him a kiss hello.

But Crowley lived a life of danger, always sought by Heaven and other angels and demons. It was foolish enough to have a friendship with Aziraphale. If Crowley let himself fall in love with Aziraphale in return, if they were properly together, it would put Aziraphale in even more peril.

In any case, Crowley was an angel. It made sense that he would want to protect his friend. It was very strange, though, that a demon’s first reaction to encountering an archangel who was vulnerable to temptation had been to protect him ferociously. But the truth was that if Crowley Fell, it would be a gain for Hell, but a loss to Aziraphale himself. If Aziraphale ever managed to tempt Crowley into doing anything that Crowley really didn’t want to do, their friendship would not recover. Aziraphale no doubt explained that to himself as selfishness. Crowley was quite certain it had never been that.

“In town on business, then?” Crowley asked.

“Lots of secrets in a war,” Aziraphale confirmed. He said the next part carefully, watching Crowley closely for his reaction. “Enough that I can afford to be choosy about which ones I sell.”

“I know this wasn’t you, Alba,” Crowley assured him. “You’d hardly be the one to come up with trench warfare. Cold and messy and utterly boring. Not your style.”

“No, it isn’t,” Aziraphale said, some of the worry fading from his expression. “How long have you been here?”

Crowley tried to deflect the question. “Here? A couple of days.”

“I meant at the Front, wherever that might find itself,” Aziraphale corrected him sharply. When Crowley didn’t answer him, Aziraphale made a demonic growling sound low in his throat. But he didn’t press the argument. He was too much of an artist to be so blunt with his temptations. 

Because it was definitely not the case that Aziraphale never tempted Crowley at all. There were often small things that Aziraphale felt Crowley ought to give in to, and it was at times like that, when Crowley found himself once more ensnared by Aziraphale’s well-woven traps, that he realized how lucky he was that Aziraphale was always so careful with him.

Aziraphale reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a tureen of soup that was far too large and unwieldy to have been in a pocket, and still boiling hot as well. Crowley passed out the food to the eager soldiers, feeling the mood of the trench rise up out of misery into a transitory pleasure, just as it had during the visit from the owl.

As Crowley ate his soup, Aziraphale reached into another reality-bending pocket and pulled forth a coat, long and luxurious, gray wool with a dark fur lining and a hood. He settled it over Crowley’s shoulders. 

For a second, Crowley let himself indulge in the softness of it, the way the wind that had been cutting through his jacket seemed to give up when faced with the coat instead. And then, when it had been warmed by his body heat, he took the coat down the trench to the youngest soldier there and wrapped him into it. The kid was only nineteen and away from home for the first time. The look on his face sitting there in that coat, holding hot soup, held a wondering gratitude that Crowley would treasure always.

Aziraphale did not look surprised. He did look displeased. “It is absolutely necessary,” he complained, “for you to be an angel at every minute of every day?”

Crowley smiled at him. “Afraid so, Alba.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and began unbuttoning his own black coat.

“No,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale went right on unbuttoning. “I will tempt you into it if I have to,” he warned, dark eyes trained on Crowley rather in the manner of a bird of prey looking at a meal.

“That’s not terribly demonic of you,” Crowley observed over the last bite of soup.

“Tempting an angel to be selfish isn’t demonic?” Aziraphale slipped out of the coat, but then hesitated with it in his hands. “Anthony—” The amusement was gone from his face now, and an underlying anxiety replaced it. “Look, I can’t— I am aware that it’s your nature to be here. But you're no good to them like this, just as hungry and cold and exhausted as they are. And I—” His voice fell soft.  _ “I _ would feel a lot better myself if you weren’t suffering needlessly.”

Crowley sighed. “You’re a very dangerous person, you know.”

The teasing glint was immediately back in Aziraphale’s eyes. “I’ve no idea what you mean,” he said, handing Crowley the coat. Crowley slipped it on with a little sigh of pleasure, earning him a smirk from Aziraphale, but there was a look of relief in his eyes as well. Crowley knew the demon well enough to see through his acting. The worry had been real. Aziraphale’s jovial smile was the mask.

“If I were dangerous,” Aziraphale mused, “I would be able to tempt you back to the library for a good night’s sleep.”

Crowley snorted. “You could and we both know it.” He looked over the trench, and beyond it to the next one, and the next. “I have to keep watch,” he said softly. “Sometimes there’s fighting in the night. And if there’s not, I can let them get some sleep. Take their nightmares away. I can make them think they’re home.”

“Then let me do it,” Aziraphale said. He blinked as if he’d surprised himself. “I mean, if you trust me to—”

Crowley gave him a curious look. “You know that I do.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed a little. “I thought I was  _ very dangerous.” _

“You’ve tempted me into sleeping, haven’t you?”

A little smile played over Aziraphale’s mouth. “Now I’m to blame for your giving in to exhaustion? You do ascribe an awful lot of power to me, dear.”

“I tell you what, though,” Crowley said, “how about we share the coat?” He draped it back over Aziraphale’s shoulders, and led him to sit down in the most comfortable spot there was in the trench: an upended box. The fussy demon didn’t remark on it at all, just folding his legs in a way that made room for a very large snake.

Crowley shifted into his serpent form with relief. The trench was even colder to his snake skin than it had been as a human, but soon he was curled in the lap of his best friend, soaking in his body heat. Aziraphale arranged the skirt of the coat to block the last of the wind coming over the top of the trench, and it was only minutes before Crowley dropped into a blessed sleep.

oOo

When Crowley stirred it was dawn, he could tell by the light. Aziraphale was tracing his fingers over him gently, calling him to wakefulness. Crowley stretched his serpentine body out, winding lazily around Aziraphale’s arm and shoulder before dropping to the ground and retaking human form. 

Aziraphale was smiling at him, but with a little bit of wonder in his eyes, which made Crowley want to laugh. It hadn’t really occurred to Crowley until now that what he’d done last night was not only to trust a demon with hundreds of human lives, but to curl up in his lap and go to sleep— an act which had left Crowley nearly defenseless. But that sort of thing somehow still surprised Aziraphale, even after all these years.

Crowley let Aziraphale give him the coat this time. They walked unseen across no-man’s land and brought the allied soldiers a hot breakfast, which Aziraphale again pulled from the pocket of the coat. When Crowley healed another few coughing soldiers, it took much less time, and he gave Aziraphale a grateful look. Aziraphale didn’t outwardly acknowledge it, but Crowley could see a little of the tension in his shoulders lessen.

When it was time for Aziraphale to go back to his library, he adjusted the coat around Crowley’s neck, tucking Crowley’s scarlet curls into the hood, and then went about checking that all the buttons were fastened. He wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. “You know, some of this  _ is  _ my fault,” he said quietly.

“This is a lot of people’s faults, Alba. But the vast majority of us are players in a game we don’t control.”

The anxiety was visible on Aziraphale’s face again. “Anthony, for the love of all that is— whatever it is, please do not get yourself discorporated. You know if Heaven gets hold of you, they won’t let you come back.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands in his, which is something they rarely did, and Aziraphale gave him a startled look. Crowley spoke gently. “I promise.” 

But a suspicion formed in Crowley’s mind then, as he watched Aziraphale’s dark eyes. “If I did, you’d— You have a plan, don’t you? Some way to get me back from Heaven. Of course you do.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You need more sleep, my dear, you’re being ridiculous.”

Crowley snorted. “Well, now I’ll be even more careful, I don’t fancy your storming Heaven.”

Aziraphale looked a little offended. “I can tell you’re an angel. It’s all about brute force with your side. There are usually easier ways to get something done.”

Crowley laughed. “You know what? I don’t even want to know.”

Aziraphale gave him a look of amused surprise. “I can’t imagine why you’d think I’d tell you.” 

Aziraphale gave a last caress to Serpens, who had poked its head out onto Crowley’s hand again, and then he surprised Crowley by leaning in close. “I will know,” Aziraphale said softly, looking at Crowley with eyes gone fully black with demonic power, “if you take this coat off.”

He left as an owl again, and Crowley watched him until he was lost against the sunrise, feeling warm and rested and truly loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, Aziraphale does not like to let go of something once he has it, and Crowley is his most prized treasure. He definitely has a plan to get Crowley back if he gets discorporated, and Serpens is totally in on it with him.
> 
> PS: the romantic/sexual tension between these two finally reaches the breaking point 23 years after this. You can read all about it in Tyto Alba (the first work in the series).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are so appreciated! And please feel free to check out our other works: [AarinsRitsuka (Sparky)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AarinsRitsuka) & [HolyCatsAndRabbits (Dannye Chase)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits).
> 
> Find us on tumblr [Sparky (Crowleyisms)](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/crowleyisms) & [Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits)](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/holycatsandrabbits)  
> Twitter [Sparky (Horrorimus)](https://twitter.com/horrorimus) & [DannyeChase](https://twitter.com/DannyeChase)  
> Instagram [Sparky (Horrorimus)](https://www.instagram.com/horrorimus/) & [dannye_chase](https://www.instagram.com/dannye_chase/)  
> and Facebook [Dannye Chase](https://facebook.com/DannyeChase)  
> 


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